


Avatar, Interrupted

by Ohata_kaki



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: LonelyEyes, M/M, TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021 (The Magnus Archives), avatars power tripping, just avatars using annoyance as a seduction strategy, many eyed Elias, mild descriptions of loneliness and body horror, some innuendo and suggestive language, two vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohata_kaki/pseuds/Ohata_kaki
Summary: Two snapshots in which Peter and Elias choose to seek the others attention at delightfully inopportune moments
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021





	Avatar, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fefeps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fefeps/gifts).



> This was written for f0nkart as a part of the TMA Valentines Exchange! I hope you enjoy your lonelyeyes and many eyed Elias my friend <3
> 
> In regards to the title, the fic has nothing to do with the book Girl, Interrupted. I just liked the cheeky sound of it. The fic does however have gratuitous mention of a different book?? Knowledge of either book is not necessary for enjoyment of the fic! (at least I hope not 😬)
> 
> No beta. Yeehaw lets ride.

**I.**

Today Elias brings out the gramophone. It is a finicky old thing, not worth the effort on most days. But between that and his office door, they nearly drown out the fire alarm’s blare . Music laced with pop and static begins to hum as Elias finds his seat on the chesterfield chair near the window. He opens his chosen book--a classic he had started again and promptly neglected in favor of a thousand other commitments. And he reads. And he waits. 

***

His skin is buzzing, hand anxiously turning the pages, eager to see more and more and more. 

_“She was still in an excited, hysterical state, laughing convulsively at nothing and everything. Her eyes were blazing, and her cheeks showed two bright red spots against the white. The melancholy appearance of some of her guests seemed to add to her sarcastic humour, and perhaps the very cynicism and cruelty of the game proposed by Ferdyshtchenko pleased her.”_

A face--Sasha’s--wide eyed in horror. Unable to fathom the evolution she is about to undergo. He drinks her screams like the aged terror it is. Watches as she is peeled away into something greater than herself. 

_“'And how are you to know that one isn’t lying? And if one lies the whole point of the game is lost,' said Ganya._

_'Oh, but think how delightful to hear how one’s friends lie!--”'_

He pairs Sasha with something a bit younger but no less delectable: his Archivist. Curious and with boundless potential. The holes in his legs and his face throb as he, Tim, and Martin run toward the tunnels. Elias brims in pride hearing their breaths through the static of the tape recorder Jon grabbed on instinct. 

_“'But surely this is a joke, Nastasya Filipovna?' asked Totsky. 'You don’t really mean us to play this game.'_

_'Whoever is afraid of wolves had better not go into the wood,' said Nastasya, smiling."_

The music all around him swells to a fever pitch. Even the alarm’s muted whine seems to grow more insistent, more distressed. And Elias’s many eyes gleam triumphant. They bask in the transformation, the shedding and breaking of old skin to make room for new scars. 

Of course, this is exactly when the sharp tang of ocean--beached flesh and seaweed--wafts into the room. It is a culmination snatched. A sneeze that refuses to happen. A wad of paper batted away from the bin at the last second. An annoyance.

“What impeccable timing, dear.” Elias drawls, not lifting a single eye to greet his companion. “I was just reading about you.”

“Is that so?” Peter’s wave-washed voice questions. His loafers tap dully on the old hardwood as he approaches the back of the leather seat. A broad, cold hand comes to rest on Elias’ shoulder as Peter leans in to take a better look.

Flick. Flick. Peter hums in mock contemplation. The page continues to wobble until it is impossible for Elias to keep his place. Begrudgingly, he draws his face from the book making a valiant effort not to smack his husband with the cover. 

Peter, for his part, looks just tickled pink as he grabs the front half of the book and flips it to check the title--Dostoevsky’s The Idiot. Peter’s grin only grows. “You fancy me a prince? How sweet, Elias.” 

“More of a Rogozhin if we’re making comparisons,” Elias quips, “with your money and… questionable looks.” 

Peter barks a laugh. “Suppose that makes you Nastasya? Fickle and mad and breathtakingly beautiful.” Peter slides his hand down Elias’s neck, tracing the outline of a stray emerald eye gleaming in its satiation. It sends a shudder all the way down his back.

On any other day, _any_ day these past months, Elias would gladly have taken the distraction. But now, with his orchestrated dance between the archives, Jane and Nikola’s lot (not to mention a stolen moment curled away with a book) Elias does not have the attention to spare. 

Shifting his neck out of Peter’s grasp, Elias sets the gaze of his first two eyes on the man. “For someone who serves the forsaken, you are terrible at leaving well enough alone.” 

“Don’t be like that, darling. I’ve been gone for so long! Only just docked the Tundra last night.”

Elias raises an eyebrow and opens the book to where he left off.

“It makes my loneliness all the sweeter when I have memories to miss.” He nuzzles into Elias’s temple. A dainty kiss lands between protruding lids and lashes on his cheek. “Won’t you give me something to remember you by on my next trip?” Peter pouts between insistent kisses on open patches of his skin. 

Elias considers his options as Peter’s fingers creep over the buttons of his shirt. He can hear Tim and Jon still running through the tunnels. It should take them some time to find their way out of that shifting maze. And as much as he is loathe to admit it, Peter makes a much more convincing argument once his mouth is otherwise occupied.

Jon’s made it this far, he concludes; he’ll (probably) survive waiting a little longer than planned. So, with his conscience cleared, Elias is free to grab a fistful of salt tousled hair and drag Peter into a bruising kiss. The man above him moans and redoubles his efforts to divest Elias of his shirt. 

**II.**

He could not ask for a more perfect day at shore. The fog sits in sheer layers, obscuring the distance but not thick enough to offer refuge or cover. The forsaken has provided an untouched plot of sand. The water rushes in and out. Each wave sits glossy on the sand for only a moment before soaking into the ground. The crustaceous critters sputter in their sand dug homes at the waterline like all the other unseen drowning souls on this endless coast.

Peter keeps his time here sacred. It’s always a comfort, but today feels all the more satisfying when he thinks of Martin’s progression into The Forsaken. His willing scorn leaves echoes of loneliness all through the archives. It seems Lady Luck has finally caught Peter in her sights. He closes his eyes and inhales and exhales the stale chill of dawn.

Until there is a familiar prickling at the back of his neck. The feeling of people--of a Gaze--burrowing into his solitude. His suspicion is confirmed when he peeks an eye open. A toxic green glow emanates from behind him. It bathes the sand and the edges of his clothes in its Sight. 

“I regret. Ever giving you a key to my shores.” 

Elias’s voice drips with amusement, “Peter, I would never want to impose--” 

Peter interjects with an unimpressed guffaw.

“--but what with your boy locking me away in this hell hole,”

“Luxury prison.” Peter corrects, “the best my money could buy.”

“--I am dreadfully bored.” 

“There’s plenty to spy at your institute” Peter dismisses with the wave of his hand.

“Peter. _Peter._ I need diversity. I’m tired of the taste of sorrow and yearning.”

Peter imagines Elias pacing his room as he speaks. A big cat with eyes trained on the world outside it’s bars. The type of animal who would rather chase his handler for sport than eat even one more cold steak. 

“It’s all the same dithering; ‘Tim's gone’ and ‘I miss Martin’ and ‘I have to face this on my own’. I crave _variety_.

A beat passes. “But, since I can’t have it, I’m forced to find other means of entertainment.”

Before Peter has a chance to process what is about to happen, his senses are overtaken. 

He finds himself in the past. Elias straddles his lap in a familiar robe. The fabric is a dark jade silk that is so smooth it insists on sneaking down Elias’s shoulders. The room around them has all the charm of a cheap motel. The surrounding units are deathly quiet. Elias leans in close, his cheek pressed to Peters cheek as he speaks.

“Dan Evans, flat 201, wishes he would stop himself from listening.” The wood frame creaks as Elias undulates above his bedmate. “The part he hates the most is the comfort he derives from hearing us together. From the imagining of two souls connected and loved. Something that seems so impossible for himself.” 

Peter feels the groan resonate in his chest as it rolls through him unbidden. 

“Dan had to move away; it was the only door left open. He tells himself over and over and over hoping the surety of his decision will dull the ache of swelling emptiness.” 

Elias’s breath is heavy and loud in his ear. Some of the words get lost in the sound of it, but Peter catches the gist. Gripping satin hips, he encourages Elias to continue rocking deeply until the ancient mattress below them squeaks in protest.

Peter is thrown out of the memory with as much warning as he was invited in. And again he sits with the shore and Elias’s Eye. 

“If you came to visit, I would be happy to share my food. I could tell you all about my poor archivist... how he tortures himself trusting Martin, staying away from him when it’s the last thing he wants to do. Or perhaps Daisy and Basira: together again but not fitting with each other quite the same. Not able to heal while Daisy’s constantly clawing herself apart, keeping The Hunt at bay.”

Elias’s sentences fall and crack open on his teeth, yielding like a lobster’s shell between metal jaws. The words billow forth in steamy clouds which Peter slurps zealously. He rubs his forearm against his mouth to swipe the butter (or is that drool?) away. 

This gives Peter quite a lot to consider. On the one hand, meditation is a practice that requires dedication. Discipline. He would be loath to cheat himself of this precious time in the Forsaken.

“Or perhaps, if you are particularly lucky,” Elias pipes up in a considering tone, “I might share with you a taste of my own... malaise.”

But on the other hand, is worshipping your god not a form of ritual mindfulness? (And if he gets some ass along the way? Two birds.) 

“You drive a hard bargain, Bouchard.” Peter sighs, the corners of him already curling in wisps of smoke.

“See you momentarily, dear.” Elias replies with an audible smirk. 

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the text, the several book quotes are taken from a translation of Fyodor Dostoyevsky's The Idiot. Did I listen to that entire book on tape because I was curious?? .... maybe. I got about a 50 percent on the cliff notes quiz so I'm not sure how much I really understood lolol.


End file.
